


House of Carnage

by RussellEppLeppel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gladiators, Humor, Post-Apocalypse, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17930699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussellEppLeppel/pseuds/RussellEppLeppel
Summary: It’s the post-apocalypse, complete with all the usual trappings. This means stadia to host death matches, and every stadium needs announcers. This story explores the mordant relationship between the two commentators at the House of Carnage gladiatorial arena who each hate their jobs almost as much as they hate each other. Enjoy! (Dedicated to its main characters, Gabe and Yahtzee)





	House of Carnage

After the End, the Waste stretched as far as the eye could see, broken up only occasionally by a small oasis or a roving clan. Squatting among its northern dunes though was the House of Carnage, where residents of the grim world lived and died, fighting one another for sport with some of the last vestiges of what remained of their great society. It could hold 50,000 spectators in the seats, and hundreds of guards and gladiators in its subterranean pits. High above the arena floor, in a wide balcony adorned with lavish columns and beautiful, scantily clad women sat Machio, Emperor of the Waste and Lord of the Fights. Down below him, at the edge of the arena and halfway buried in the ground, like a dug-out, was the announcers’ booth, right in close to the action. Sitting there were two commentators. One was a tall, lanky man who wore a faded trilby, threadbare checkered sports blazer, and tattered tie over a stained white undershirt. The man sitting next to him was bald and sported an eyepatch. He was much stockier than his counterpart, with hulking muscles slowly turning to flab. His shirtless chest was covered in scars and tattoos, and wrapped around his waist was a big gold championship belt. His left hand was missing, and in its place was riveted a large, gas-powered circular saw.  
“Greetings sports fans and welcome to the House of Carnage gladiatorial arena! I’m your host, Booker Prize-winning novelist Kent Townsend, and this is my co-host, undefeated 32 match scissor-class world champion Austin ‘Ripper’ Jones.” The tall man spoke into his microphone with forced excitement.  
“Thanks Kent.” Ripper said quickly.  
“We’ve got a doozy for you today folks. Gregor ‘The Executioner’ Hicks has a much anticipated bout with up-and-coming rookie Roger ‘Dodger Rod’ Rodriguez. The tale of the tape gives us that The Executioner’s got seven wins, two ties, and no defeats. He’s 6 foot 4 and 120 kilos of pure muscle. That’s going to be hard to beat, but if anyone can do it, it’s Dodger Rod. He’s quick on his feet and undefeated in his first three matches. Let’s see if he can keep up that hot streak. Anything to add Ripper?”  
“Yeah, uh, Dodger’s really gonna have ta press that offense and-uh not let the Executioner get an inch, and-uh, just lace up those cleats, lace up those sandals, and-uh, give it his all. He’s gonna have ta rise ta the occasion, cos-uh it’s gonna be a war out there.” Ripper blathered inelegantly.   
The two competitors took the field. Gregor loomed over his short opponent. His only armour was a brass bell-diving helmet, athletic shin-guards, and a shield, which was scarcely little more than a sheet of corrugated iron. In his other hand he clutched a large chainsaw. He was a secutor, and Roger was a retiarius. Roger held a long trident, and on his shoulder was mounted a three-barrelled pneumatic net gun. Sheathed on his thigh was a special diver’s knife which could inject a large quantity of carbon dioxide into its victim, designed for defense against shark attacks.   
“The Executioner has ended all of his matches so far in under three minutes, and we know Dodger likes to stretch his matches out and really tire his opponents down. Do you think that lack of stamina could lead to The Executioner’s undoing?” Kent asked.  
“Well uh, he’s really gotta keep movin’, yeah, so-uh, keep on the outside and-uh watch that left side.” Ripper began to ramble. “And-uh, they’ve both gotta come out swingin’, workin’ those advantages, and-uh givin’ it their best, cos-uh everyone here’s really just tryna fight the best fight they can and-uh put it all out there on display for us today, cos-uh that’s what it’s all about, sportsmanship.”  
“Thanks Ripper.” Kent said insincerely. “And we’ll have an interview after the fight with the winner, assuming one of them survives.” A shapely gladiatrix in fishnet stockings and a chainmail bikini strutted out into the center of the arena, her high-heel hooker boots leaving little circular stab marks in the sand behind her. She held aloft a large sign reading ‘Round 1’, and a siren sounded. “And there they go!” The match officially started, and the competitors began their battle.  
“The Executioner is moving slowly but unfailingly toward Dodger Rod, folks, and it’s quite clear; his steady, determined gait’s showing us nothing will stop this man, nor even slow him down.” Kent announced. “Dodger is wisely retreating, quickly, but The Executioner continues to advance. He’s pushing him further and further back and now he’s nearly spread against the back wall. Dodger’s going to have to get out of the warning track if he wants to have much hope of surviving this round, to say nothing of winning this fight.”  
Gregor reached Rodriguez and the crowd screamed for blood. Gregor began to swing. Roger began to dodge.  
“He’s dodging left. He’s dodging right. He’s dodging left again. Which way will he dodge next!?” Kent announced, speaking rapidly to keep up pace with the action. “Anything to add, Ripper?”  
“No.” Ripper said unenthusiastically.  
“You sure?” Kent probed.  
“Well-uh, they’re really feelin’ each other out, so-uh this is gonna be a game of inches, I can tell.” Ripper said begrudgingly. Gregor swung his blade across his body, and Roger dodged under the swing. Gregor was prepared though. He spun on his heel, swinging his shield arm back and clocking Roger with it. Roger ran face first into large metal sheet, and Gregor knocked him flat on his back with the blow.   
“And The Executioner’s sending Dodger back down to the sand.” Kent spoke. “What a backhand!”   
Gregor swung his chainsaw down, but Rodriguez rolled out of the way just in time. He sprung onto his feet and moved back in towards the center of the ring.  
“Whew, that was a close one!” Kent cried. “I was sure we were about to see the end of Dodger’s career right there. He’s moving back into the middle. He’s not out yet. Thoughts Ripper?”  
“Yeah, when ya fighting The Executioner ya just gotta keep quick on ya feet, and-uh he’s gettin’ in the middle. He knows what he’s gotta do, but-uh he dodged a bullet there, and-uh that’s good, so-uh ya can’t let The Executioner dominate the space ya know?”  
“It’s a privilege to have insight to your thoughts.” Kent said sarcastically. The siren sounded again in one short blast. “Ten seconds left in the round!” Kent said, his energy coming back instantaneously.  
“Ten! Nine! Eight!...” The crowd started to chant.   
“Here comes the net!” Kent spoke as Roger launched the rope web at Gregor with the ‘phoot’ of compressed air being released. Gregor thrust his shield out, preventing entrapment. “An expert block!” Kent cheered. In that moment, Gregor’s vision was totally obscured, and Roger seized the chance, thrusting his trident forward. Gregor saw the attack at the last minute, and parried it down with his saw. Two prongs stabbed the sand on either side of his foot.   
“...Six! Five! Four!...” The crowd continued. Gregor kicked his left foot out, and his greave caught on the trident’s crossbar. This pushed the entire weapon up and back, and the butt end of the shaft speared Roger straight in the diaphragm. This blow knocked the wind out of him, and once again, he pitched over onto his back. Gregor charged in, closing the short distance with his chainsaw raised high for the death blow. Just before he could bring it down, the siren sounded in a long cry.  
“Wow, saved by the bell, eh Ripper?”  
“Yeah, and-uh, that coulda been the end there, but-uh, the round ended right at the last second, so-uh, Dodger really dodged the bullet there.” Ripper summarized.  
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Kent agreed. “Well, I could have. I won the Man Booker prize. If anything I’m overqualified for this simple job.”  
“Shuddup.” Ripper grumbled.   
“Shrewd move by Dodger Rod, back there, saving his net for the final moments. Do you think he’ll try the same thing in round two, and do you think it could pay off?”  
“Oh-uh, yeah-uh, it could really pay off if he does it well, but-uh only time’ll tell, and-uh, we just gotta see how it all plays out, cos-uh, ya know that’s just how these things go, and-uh, it ain’t over til it’s over, and-uh, it’ll end how it ends, yaknowwhatImean? We don’ fight these fights on paper.”  
“We’ll just have to wait and see.” Kent nodded.  
Roger had his net repacked in its launcher and refilled with air while Gregor tossed aside his helmet, desperately short on breath and quickly overheating in the direct midday sun. Each fighter had a drink and a breather and retook the field. The gladiatrix came and joined them again, this time with a sign saying Round 2.   
“Our competitors are taking to the sand.” Kent announced. “And just like that The Executioner’s going right after Dodger again, straight out of the corner. He’s really living up to his title of ‘pursuer’. That’s what secutor means, and what it’s all about. I must say folks, watching this is a real privilege. All your friends will be jealous when you tell them about this tomorrow.”  
“He really is givin’ a hundred an ten percent out there.” Ripper added. “He’s in his natural position, and-uh he’s really feelin’ it.”  
“He must have gotten his second wind because he is not letting up on Dodger Rod at all.” Kent said.   
“And that’s what ya gotta do!” Ripper jumped in. “That’s what ya gotta do. The Executioner knows what it takes to win. Just keep pressin’ Roger, and-uh really don’ let him get a moment. Ya gotta just stay on him. That’s what ya gotta do.”  
“And that’s indeed just what Gregor’s doing.” Kent nodded. “He’s really making Roger the Dodger earn that epithet. He’s chasing Dodger ‘round the ring. Dodger keeps retreating towards The Executioner’s left side. Ripper, do you think that’s wise, evading to the shield arm, putting as much distance as he can between himself and Gregor’s saw?”  
“No doubt about it Kent.” Ripper agreed. “Ya really don’ wanna dodge towards that sword, yaknowwhatimsayin’? Ya just wanna keep dodgin’ right, stayin’ on The Executioner’s left; and-uh keepin’ that shield between the two of ya.”   
“He’s staying in that helmet’s blind spot too.” Kent concluded. “He’s not pulling back too far. He knows that helmet and visibility are not happy bedfellows, and he’s exploiting that. He can’t go too far to The Executioner’s side, or he’s back in a window.”  
“Ya really don’ want The Executioner ta see ya, when ya in there.” Ripper said. “The Executioner’s pressin’ that offense, but-uh Dodger’s really fightin’ a defensive battle.”  
“Dodger hasn’t thrown an attack yet this round.” Kent observed. “Do you think maybe he’s just baiting The Executioner, trying to wear him down?”  
“Oh yeah, he could definitely be baitin’ him, so-uh yeah that’s a thing he could be doin’. Tryna wear him down. Tryna wear down The Executioner, really wear him down, wear down his energy.”  
“It makes you wonder who’s really the one in control here.” Kent concluded, straightening his stack of papers. Roger and Gregor continued to circle around the arena trying one another.  
“It looks like Dodger is finally starting to wear down the Executioner’s energy. His shield is beginning to drop dangerously low.” Kent observed. “Do you think that could be a problem?”  
“Oh yeah, that could certainly be a problem if his shield drops too low, cos-uh, ya know ya got the shield ta protect ya, so-uh, ya don’ wanna let that drop too low, so-uh he’s gotta stretch that defense.”  
The ten-second-warning siren sounded, and as if on cue, Roger threw his first strike of the round, striking at Gregor’s head with butt end of his trident. Gregor easily parried, but it was just a ruse to soften him for the next attack. Roger thrust low with the points, and Gregor dropped his shield even lower to block. It was a feint though! Exhausted as he was, Gregor couldn’t get his shield back up in time, and Dodger ensnared the hulking fighter in his net with a definitive phoot of terror.  
“Excellent combination attack Dodger’s finally unleashed on The Executioner!” Kent cheered. “He clearly had a plan the entire time, and now he has The Executioner, his weapon, and his shield all tangled up! Could this be the end here!?”   
“Yeah-uh, it could be.” Ripper bobbed his head in agreement. “The Executioner may be proper rooted, so-uh it could be the defining play.”  
“Dodger’s charging in for the kill-” Kent cried, making sure to build up the climax and keep the audience hooked. Then he was interrupted by the siren announcing the end of the round. Roger froze, practically in midair, and the two fighters retreated to their respective corners.  
Gregor threw down his chainsaw and his shield, then removed and tossed aside his helmet as well.   
“This is the first good look I’ve gotten at The Executioner’s face this fight,” Kent informed the crowds. “And it is beet red, drenched with sweat. If it was Dodger’s intention to tire The Executioner, it is certainly working. We can see why secutors have to end their fights quickly; that helmet’s heavy, and there’s no room in there to breathe. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more exhausted looking warrior in my career at the House of Carnage. Oh, The Executioner’s looking at me. Aaand he’s drawing a finger across his throat threateningly. It sure makes me glad there’s a layer of wrought iron fencing between us and the arena, eh Ripper?”  
The scantily clad gladiatrix returned to the center of the ring and held aloft the next sign. The siren blasted, and round three began.

**Author's Note:**

> The entirety of this work is available for kindle/ebooks at Amazon. To comply with AO3 guidelines, I cannot provide a link to the page here, but I can direct you to my Twitter, @purpleskull14. The link to my Amazon page is available there. Or Just Google my name, since it's the first result.


End file.
